Slash and Burn
by Eightfold
Summary: Gensou Suikoden III. Aila goes back to Karaya, and finds things she didn't expect. Chapter 1 of 3. Please R+R.
1. Slashing

_**Author's Notes**: First chapter in... hrm, not a series, per se. Well, call it an ongoing story. This contains **serious** spoilers for Suikoden III, and most the dramatic impact will be lost if you haven't played it; you've been warned. Skip to the bottom for more. If you like this, hate this, are largely indifferent to it, whatever -- please leave feedback. Please. Even if it's just "you suck". I'm a shameless whore, and I like knowing what people think of my stuff._

Heavy rains washed Caleria free of grime and dust, po%uring down for a solid fortnight. Lacking an assignment after their latest mission, unit twelve had been cooped up with the other sodden, huddled masses, taking refuge at their usual inn. 

Joker was juggling egg yolks in a shot glass for his not-so-secret hangover cure when Aila wandered down into the common room. Queen poked warily at an omelet by his side. They'd been in the exact same chairs the night before. No reason to think they'd gone to bed, or even _moved_ once they'd settled down to serious boozing. 

Queen looked up when Aila's shadow crossed the table and cracked a tired smile. "Morning. Looks like someone actually got a night's sleep around here..." 

"Only half of one." Aila pulled up a chair; Joker didn't say anything, just pushed a basket of muffins and a glass of orange juice across the table: they'd ordered for her, apparently. "I'd finally gotten used to the sound of all the rain, and then it _stopped_... thanks." 

She fished out a muffin and bit into it. Somewhere in the past year, the food in Caleria had gone from 'edible' to 'palatable'. She'd gotten used to the smell, too (more or less), to the coyness of Calerian merchant bartering, to maneuvering through crowds. The thought had teeth that gnawed at her conscience; she hadn't even _realized_ she'd become so assimilated until it had already happened. Brooding over the orange juice, she almost missed Queen's next words. 

"You say that like it's a _bad_ thing..." The other woman stabbed a bit of omelet with relish. Of all the mercenaries, Queen hated the rain the most. The only time she ever caught cold, she claimed, was when she'd been _wet_. "Soon as the Captain gets back, we'll have a new assignment -- anything to get us out of here!" 

Aila bit her lip and took a long sip of orange juice. Her mouth felt dry all of a sudden. "Um, yeah... yeah, I know what you mean." 

Neither Queen nor Joker missed her tone of voice, the hesitation in her words. They exchanged inscrutable looks with each other. Aila was convinced they could communicate with Secret Harmonian Eye-Signals, or maybe drinking together for so long had given them some sort of spiritual bond. Still carefully pouring his yolks back and forth, Joker grunted and shook his head. "Something on your mind?" 

She wiped orange juice from her mouth with the back of her hand, then crossed her arms over the back of the chair and rested her chin on them. _You look sulky and petulant_, she realized, but couldn't find the heart to care. 

"I'm going back. To Karaya." 

Neither of them looked particularly surprised. Queen just shrugged, an amused grin on her lips. Joker only raised an eyebrow, looking at her over the alchemy he was performing with dried fish scales. "Leaving us so soon?" 

"It's not permanent, okay? I guess that's the Captain's decision, but -- it's been more than a year now. The spirits in Karaya have probably forgotten who I _am_." Queen raised an eyebrow, and Aila felt her cheeks flush. "I should at least go back and see how the rebuilding is going..." 

"And you think he won't agree?" Queen tilted her head to the side and frowned. 

Aila shrugged and took a bite out of the muffin; food could be a useful delaying tactic. Finally, she shook her head. "Yes. I mean no. I mean... _Can_ you leave the Unit and come back? For, um, personal reasons?" 

Joker finally put the yolks down and smirked. "Of course you can. How do you think we ever get rid of Ace?" 

There wasn't anything to say to that, so Aila found herself looking towards the entrance. Queen followed her gaze, then smirked. "Ah, speak of the Devil..." 

Ace was making a beeline for their table, trying very hard not to be noticed by the charming "young lady" who'd accompanied him to his rooms the night before. 

"Huh? Devil? Get rid of me? What are you drunkards plotting now?" Ace eyed the trio suspiciously. Trying to loom, he slammed his fists down on the end of the table and glowered. "Going to murder me in my sleep, huh?" 

Queen rolled her eyes. "Please. As if we'd _need_ to. A little more exposure to you, and the whores will do it _for_ us." 

"Stop casting aspirations on my character!" He tried to muster an expression of wounded dignity, but spoiled it by grabbing for a muffin and stuffing it in his mouth. 

Joker shook his head and drained off his "cure". "That's 'aspersions', idiot." Heaving himself away from his seat, he stabbed a finger at Ace's chest. "That's what you get for reading all those trashy books." 

"At least I _can_ read, old man!" 

They wandered off still bickering, ostensibly to find the Captain and settle a dispute left over from the night before. Queen and Aila managed to keep from laughing until they were out of earshot. 

Taking advantage of the momentary silence when they finally settled down, Aila wolfed down two more muffins. She was on her third when she noticed Queen studying her, head tilted thoughtfully to the side. 

"Yes?" 

"Have you told Jacques yet?" 

Aila reached for the pot of honey Joker had left behind, slathering some on the muffin. "Mm-hmm." Reluctantly, she found herself elaborating. "He didn't say much. Just that he knew, when I said I felt penned in. He asked me if I was coming back, and he seemed happy when I said yes... but that was it. Just told me to take care of myself on the way back." 

"You wish he'd tried to stop you?" 

"Nah..." Aila shook her head and went for another muffin, only to fine the basket empty. She scowled. "But it would have been nice if he'd done _something_. Why are men so clueless?" 

A little smile twitched on Queen's lips. "I wouldn't say Jacques is _clueless_... just a little slow. Patience is a virtue, they say." She glanced over her shoulder at the sound of arguing; Geddoe had appeared, still-bickering Ace and Joker in tow. "I should know; I've been patient for a long time now..." 

-- 

The actual leave-taking was blessedly short. Aila could have made the first leg of her journey with the team, but she'd ruthlessly squashed the notion -- _if I leave with them, I'll never make it back to Karaya_. She'd forgone accompanying a trader caravan, too, even though they paid dearly for mercenary protection, but at Ace's suggestion she'd wrapped herself in a Calerian's burnoose and veil. 

"It's not just for modesty, y'know. Keeps the dust out of your eyes. And it's good to blend in, at least until you get back to the Grasslands." He'd knocked the breath out her by grabbing her in a tight a hug and pecking her on the cheek. With a little surprise, she realized she'd actually miss him, as much as any of the other unit members. Ever since he'd rescued her from an overly-friendly Le Bucque legionairre who'd manage to pin her up against an alleyway, Ace had been almost painstakingly nice to her, even letting her read his novel-in-progress. _He's not bad, really, once you get to know him..._

Jacques looked on and frowned during the hug, but stood silently until Queen nudged him in the ribs. "Say goodbye, Jacques." 

"Goodbye, Jacques." His voice was deadpan, but Aila could have sworn there was a glint of humor in his eyes when he said it. She had to look away to keep from crying. 

"I'll see you in a month, all right? I'll see you _all_ in a month. Have fun getting drunk in Kanakan for me..." 

--- 

It was easier to keep from looking back than she expected. Memories of Karaya and the Grasslands itched inside her; she could smell the earth, so much _richer_ than the rock and sand of Caleria, and she longed to scoop up a handful, crumble the loam between her fingers, rub the grit into her palms. Remembering the cool, clean taste of river water made her realize why everyone in Caleria drank booze or juice or soda. What passed for "water" in the city was tepid, week, musty. During the rains, she'd kept the windows to her room wide open, even though she nearly froze during the night and would wake up with her belongs soaked. 

_Home. Home. I have to get home._

Once she'd passed through the long queue to leave the city and paid the requisite bribes to keep from being searched, it was less than an hour before the narrow road into the mountains swung into view. The first time she'd made the trek back from Caleria, she hadn't realized the incline going up was so much steeper, and nearly hyper-ventilated, until Jacques took her aside and coaxed her into the proper rhythms. It had taken another couple of trips before she'd gotten the hang of mountain breathing. 

The spirits had also taken some getting used to. They spoke less than on the plains, and when they did, their voices were fragmented, sharp, and grating. Traveling through the mountains always felt like someone had stuffed her ears full of cotton, then made her walk through a room of screaming children. 

Still, she had gotten used to it, and had learned to pick up the whispers that meant "loose rock" or "caves nearby" or "windstorm coming". Armed with forewarning and the little pieces of mountaineering she'd picked up from Jacques, it was less than a week before she was crossing the Amur Plain. 

--- 

Brambles clung to her legs as she made her way up the hill overlooking Karaya. She kept herself from hacking them away, and took deep breaths against the sudden racing of her heart. Memories swam in her head: fire, shrill screams -- maybe human, maybe spirit, maybe both --, the first sight of the ruined and burned Karaya, from the same hill, distance playing tricks with her sight so it looked innocuous, like the last embers of a campfire. Pretty, almost, but eerily common place, as if the village had _always_ looked like that. 

_Still there. It's still there, they're rebuilding..._

Her first sight of Karaya wasn't as bad as she'd feared. Neither completely barren and ravaged, nor fully restored, there was still obvious damage, and equally obvious regrowth and repair. They'd changed the lay a bit, repositioned buildings that had been destroyed and relaid a few paths. A prominent fire-pit dominated the center of the village, similar to the squares in Zexen towns, but it felt right: a Grasslander thing. Smoke from cooking fires trailed into the air above. The hill was over a mile off, but she could practically taste the scent of fry bread and mutton stew on the air. 

She must have stood there an hour, before the growing chill told her it was nearing sundown. _Better shake my tail, or they'll eat without me._

Ruth was the first to spot her when she came down from the hill and into the village. A horde of children swarmed around her, tugging on her skirts and clamoring for her attention. Some things changed; still, had there even _been_ that many kids, before? Aila spotted a few few red-heads and paler-skinned blonds amongst the mob. Refugees from Safir, she realized; just like Ruth to take them in. 

"Stars and spirits, it's Aila! Aila, over here!" Ruth waved frantically, trying to move through the ocean of youngsters. 

"Hey, Auntie Ruth... it's been a while." The children peered up at her warily until their nursemaid swatted most of them away. 

"Come here and give me a _hug_, girl! Oh, am I ever glad to see _you_!" 

Aila endured one of Ruth's bone-crushing hugs for nearly a minute before pulling free. "I'm glad to see you, too. I'm glad to be _home_." 

Ruth chuckled and swatted at Aila's rear. "You should have come home sooner. _Spirits_, but you've grown. If I didn't know better, I'd say you're a whole footer taller than last I saw you..." Scooping up one of the errant children still milling around, she turned towards her rebuilt home. "Come on, you must be _starving_! Don't tell me you walked from Caleria all by your lonesome, child!" 

"Well, actually..." Aila's answer got lost on the wind; Ruth was already eagerly sharing a year's backlog of gossip. 

She hadn't lost her miraculous ability to generate crowds at a moment's notice, either; it seemed like the whole clan had gathered for dinner in Ruth's house. The moment she walked in, she was mobbed by hugs, pressed by bodies and embraced by a swarm of relatives, almost-relatives, family-friends. 

"It's Aila!" "How've you been? Are those mercenaries treating you all right?" "I missed you!" "What's Caleria like?" 

It took the combined authority of Ruth, Lucia, _and_ Hugo to extract her from the sea of well-wishers, although nothing could stop the barrage of questions. Someone pressed a bowl of stew and a spoon into her hands, and she immediately started wolfing it down as an excuse not to speak. Edging along the outside, she settled down onto the only free pillow in the room and dug into the food. 

By the time she was on her third bowl, the constant chatter had diverted to other topics than her return. 

Births, deaths, marriages, arguments over horses and land. gossip about the other Grassland villages... talk in Karaya was like a river, always moving but staying forever the same, with no clear beginning anyone could see nor any end. 

She took a chance and looked up, scanning the room anxiously. The weight of the past year lay heavily on everyone, even the children. Beecham's daughter suddenly looked like a _girl_, the hunting knife at her belt surely not for show. The lines around Ruth's eyes had gotten deeper, and there was a deep kind of slowness to everything Lucia did that hadn't been there before. 

Of everyone, Hugo seemed the most aged, which didn't make sense but also made too much sense; it jolted her, seeing the ancient, sad eyes of the Captain in a face so _young_ -- but then Hugo laughed at some joke one of the fighters made, and was suddenly sixteen again. 

It absorbed her, comparing Rune-bearer to Rune-bearer. Maybe that was why she missed him, sitting there in the corner. Quiet, keeping to himself, maybe even a little stiff, but part of the flow of conversation and food, not out of place by anything except his clothing and the color of his hair and eyes. 

Borus Redram. The swordsman whose famed "rage" had slaughtered half of Karaya. 

The taste of salt and blood rose in her throat. Warm brown eyes met her across the room, and she suddenly held her knife. He'd been watching her. 

"What's he doing here? _What is he doing here_?" 

A hand gripped her shoulder and she realized she'd stood up, that she'd spoken aloud, too. Blood rushed in her ears, making it impossible to pick out all the voices raised against her. He didn't stop looking at her, hadn't moved since their eyes met. 

"Aila." Ruth's voice rose out over the din and the pounding of her heart, tired and sad but deeper than she'd ever heard it. "There will be no blood in my house." 

Aila turned and ran. 

--- 

She came to kneeling over a greasy pool of mutton vomit. Her throat refused to listen to her stomach's protest that was all there was, and she choked up bile for another few moments. Grit and earth dug into her palms, less loamy than that outside the village. 

_I must have ran nearly a mile..._

The ground was cool under her hands; she pressed her palms against it, imagining herself to be drinking in the earth. After a few moments, the dry heaves subsided and her ears cleared enough to make out quiet breathing behind her. 

"Need some water?" 

_Lucia._ She closed her eyes and nodded; speaking would have made her choke again. Lucia pressed a water skin into her hands, then settled herself on the ground nearby as Aila drank. When half the water was gone, she asked, "All right now?" 

"Mm. I think so." Aila put the skin down and wiped at her mouth. "That was... really rude of me, wasn't it? Did Ruth send you?" 

"Yes, it was." Lucia heaved a sigh and nodded her head. "And no, she didn't." There was a pause; she picked up the skin, took a swig, then continued. "She wanted to come herself; I made her stay to look after her guests." 

"Oh." Even as she said it, Aila could taste the weakness in the words, and twisted her mouth into a scowl. 

After a moment, she glanced over her shoulder to find Lucia studying her, cool and appraising and patient, coiled the way she held herself in preparation for a fight. 

"Well?" One eyebrow quirked upward and she almost smiled. "Out with it." 

Aila burst out screaming and crying and pounding on the ground all at once. 

"Why? WHY are you letting him, why is he HERE? He's a murderer, he's a butcher, he KILLED Karaya!" She choked on air and tears. When she'd gotten her breath back, Lucia was still wearing her not-smile. A quick jerk of her head indicated the village behind them. 

"Has he now? Really? Take a good look, now" 

Expecting denials or justifications, Aila was taken aback. She hugged her knees to her chest and swallowed. Looking at the village hurt. Every new building, every diverted road was suddenly jagged, cutting into her vision. The new geometries that had seemed so natural made her dizzy and disoriented. Tears burned in her eyes again. "I... I..." 

Lucia reached out and wrapped her in a tight hug. "I know. I know." Warm hands rubbed her back and brushed her hair back into place. "It's still new for you. If I had realized this would happen..." 

"You wouldn't have let me go?" Aila stiffened a little in the other woman's arms. 

"I'd have warned you, at least. About the rebuilding, and about Borus." Lucia slowly let go and sighed. "Ruth's a good person; so good, she thinks everyone's the same way." 

Aila hunched over and tucked her chin to her chest. "Are you saying you think I'm a bad person?" 

The look Lucia gave her was long and not a little uncomfortable. "... no. But you aren't a forgiving one, either." Her not-smile softened. "You know, I already had this conversation with Hugo, when Borus first showed up." 

It seemed like a trap; Aila shrugged. "What _is_ he doing here, anyway?" 

"Hauling rocks and matching pitch, mostly." Lucia chuckled. 

"I'm _serious_!" 

"So am I." The older woman leaned back with her hands behind her and glanced at the stars. "He calls it penance, Ruth calls it making peace. I call it manual labor." 

"How can... Do you really want hands stained with our blood relaying our foundations?" Aila lifted her chin proudly. 

"I didn't." Lucia met her gaze without flinching, made her wince in return and shake her head sharply. 

"What?" 

"I didn't want to let him in when he first showed up." Another grin flashed across Lucia's face. "I wanted to _kill_ him." 

"And you didn't?" As if the Karaya chief ever hesitated when meting out justice. 

"Ruth talked me out of it." 

"_What_?" 

"Don't give me that look. She's as much my advisor as Beecham, or as Jimba was." Sighing, Lucia looked away towards the village for a long moment. "In the end, what convinced me was the politics, no matter how much Ruth went on about forgiveness and peace. The Lizard Clan helped rebuild the Zexen village of Iksay after their raid; what could I say -- that altruism is good for Grasslanders, not Zexens? That the Zexens can forgive, but Karaya cannot?" 

Aila slumped back over and settled her chin between her knees. "That's such a _sensible_ reason." 

"Of course. I'm the chief; that's my job. To be sensible even when my heart tells me not to." 

Another few moments passed in silence. Aila's nose started itching; she scratched, then found herself yawning. "You had this same conversation with Hugo?" 

"Mm-hmm." Lucia didn't bother keeping the amusement out of her voice. "You want me to tell you how it ended?" 

"Hey!" Aila's head snapped up and she glowered, indignant. Lucia nudged her gently in the shoulder. "Come on, unsensible girl. It's late. We should get home." 

_w00t, more Author's Notes. I can't stomach some of the romanizations of character names in the US version; so "Luce" is Ruth and "Redrum" (although very obviously a reference to __The Shining_, which I appreciate -- yay pissy alcoholic Borus with anger management issues!) is Redram. And yes, like all SFDF fans who are not horrible perverts, I _do_ like Jacques/Aila, and yes, this will at some point be Borus/Aila. For some weird, arcane value of Borus/Aila that won't involve sex (at least not "on screen") and will probably end up with Aila going back to Caleria and shacking up with Jacques. And with random Percival in, because I like torturing Welshmen. The title comes from slash-and-burn agriculture, and it's all deep and metaphorical and stuff. 


	2. Burning

_**Author's Notes**: Did I say this was going to be three parts? Uh. I lied. It'll be... well, as long as it needs to be. Once again: spoilers, don't bother reading if you haven't played the game (the spoilers aren't that bad, but really, the dramatic impact is lost if you don't know what happens). Feedback much appreciated, even just "I read it and it sucked/was great/bored me". Skip to the bottom for the snarky/spoilery stuff._

Aila woke swiftly, to soft blue light creeping in under the entrance to Lucia's home. Crisp air with an early-morning chill bit her skin. Dew and rain hung heavily on the air; it was still near dawn, then, if the sun hadn't yet had time to dry the plains. 

She sat up in bed and threw off her covers. One moment she'd been asleep, the next awake. Her sleep had been dreamless, deep and sound, as always when she had to condense a full night into a few hours. 

Rumpled bedclothes beside hers attested that Lucia had awakened ahead of her. She was nowhere to be seen, but there was a pot of black coffee and a tray of breakfast food out on a side table. Steam still curled from the coffee, and Aila had to juggle the big mug she filled from hand-to-hand for a moment to keep from burning herself. It was fresh and thick, and she relished it. Calerians had strange ideas about coffee, involving strange contraptions and spices. They should keep their peculiar notions to soda, she felt, where they belonged. 

The maize porridge was good, too, but blander than she remembered, so she took advantage of the little dishes of goat cheese and berry preserves on the tray. All stirred together, it was a sticky pinkish mess, and she'd finished the bowl and was licking the remains off her fingers when Hugo pushed back the drape over the entrance and stuck his head in. 

"Morning, Aila." He glanced around the room, then grinned. "I guess she beat you getting up, too?" 

She pulled her fingers out of her mouth guiltily and cleared her throat. "Ehrm. Hey, Hugo. Yeah, she was gone when I woke up. You had breakfast?" 

He nodded, but crossed the room and grabbed a strawberry anyway, eating it all in one bite. "Thanks." Head tilted to one side, he stared at her, while blonde hair flopped in front of his eyes. The strange too-knowing look from the previous night was gone, completely; she could have believed he was the same Hugo of two years previous. "I'm going out hunting with Hubert after I find mo-- Lucia. You want to come?" 

"Oh, hey." Aila found herself grinning. "That would be fun. I can show you this new bow of mine, it's great." 

Hugo beamed back and snagged another strawberry off the tray. "You and your weapons. Just don't miss and shoot me, all right?" 

She refilled her coffee and snorted. "I never miss." 

Grinning, he walked backwards out the entrance. "Don't shoot Hubert, either. See you later, then." 

When he was gone, she put the coffee down and stripped out of her clothing. Luckily, she'd managed to avoid getting vomit on herself, but she could use a bath. Badly. 

A quick check around the room found Lucia's wash basin turned upside-down and being used as an end-table. _Oh, to hell with it_, she decided. _I'll take a change of clothes and go stream-bathing._

She hacked out a chunk of the big block of Chisha-style soap Lucia kept in a corner, grabbed some yucca root, and tied them and her spare clothing inside one of her dirty shirts. Pack slung over her shoulder, she stepped into the open. Sunlight streamed down on her face; the sun had fully risen while she was eating breakfast. It took her a moment to adjust. Everything on the plains was so much _brighter_ than Caleria, where cumulative layers of buildings and fortifications, ridges and canyons veiled everything in intricate lacework shadows. 

The path to the stream was free of villagers, after she'd passed the limits of the village proper. Beecham had mentioned something about a new well last night; few people had even bothered to bathe in the stream after the first one had been put in, when she was twelve. 

Rich baritone voices of the earth spirits spirits bid her a pleasant day, in between the soprano trilling of the wind. Face turned up to the sky, she took a moment to whisper her greetings back. _It has been too long_, they told her. _Fire took many of those who spoke to us; now, those who hear us mumble, or hear us only dimly._ Water spirits burbled in agreement, and made a few "suggestions" as to how she might remedy this problem for them. 

She resolutely ignored the very improbable image of herself and Hugo that appeared before her eyes. _Uh-uh. No. Too young, and too Hugo. Try again._ Promising to speak to them later, she headed downstream towards a rocky. The stream bed grew wider at the bottom, and deeper too; the little "waterfall" was good for washing her hair. 

Her bag was on the ground the second the ground turned rocky beneath her feet, and she'd tugged her shirt off halfway, when a flash of movement under the water caught her eye. 

_What the -- **oh** no._

Breaking the surface of the pool, Borus spat a long stream of water upwards, and then shook his head like a dog. He was turned away from her, hip-deep. Thin scars criss-crossed his back, stretching from shoulder to mid-back. 

_Whip marks?_ The thought made her wince, but she ignored the sympathetic pangs and glared knives at the naked Zexen. _I hope they **flayed** you, coward._

Hefting a flat rock from the streambed in one hand, she drew her arm back and skipped it far out over the water. _I am not going to let you cheat me out of my bath._

The "plonk" as the stone finally sank got his attention. Borus turned around quickly, cheeks flushed and mouth open to say -- something, anyway. Whatever words he'd been planning died on his lips, and his eyes slowly grew wary. 

Aila refused to look away and glared straight at him, arms crossed over her chest. "You _done_ yet?" 

He cleared his throat, furrowed his brow, and coughed. "I... I beg your pardon, milady. I didn't realize anyone else--" Coughing again, he stopped himself and bowed, slicked blonde hair nearly touching the water's surface. "I'll get out." 

"Don't call me that," she snapped, teeth grinding at the 'milady'. He didn't straighten from his bow, or move, and she intensified her glare. "Well? Get on with it!" 

He lifted his head and glanced at her, then looked away towards the side. "I beg your pardon... would you mind turning around?" 

_Was he **blushing**?_

"What?" Borus made no answer, just coughed again. "_Why_ should I turn around, so you can stick your sword in my back?" 

_That_ got his attention. He looked back up, scowling, and started to snap out a reply, then visibly bit his tongue and looked away. Through the water, she could see his hands clenched in fists at his thighs. 

"For... modesty's sake, mi-- miss." He shivered once, then stopped himself. "My sword is back in Lady Ruth's home, peace bonded and locked in a trunk." Drops of water fell from his hair as he jerked his head to a pile of clothes a few feet away. "My clothes are there. You can check them for weapons, if you wish." 

"Like I'd _touch_ anything that had been on you." She turned around abruptly and sat cross-legged on the ground. "Hurry up and go away." 

"Thank you, milady." 

She didn't even deign to correct him, just kept an ear out for the telltale swishing of a body emerging from the water, or that of a knife being drawn. 

After a moment, a pair of Zexen-style boots crossed her vision. She looked up to a bowing Borus and scrambled to her feet. "What?" 

Once more, he choked his words back and bowed. "The stream is yours. Once more, I apologize." Not waiting for a reply, he turned and walked back up the hill. She didn't turn around until well after he'd gone out of earshot. 

_**Warn** me next time he's around!_ The attending spirits muttered and sulked while she stripped, but acquiesced in the end. She waded a ways into the stream, then stretched out on the surface, yucca root and soap on her stomach. 

Floating on her back, she stared up at the sky, robin's egg blue and cloudless. Warm water lapped over her thighs as she kicked, propelling herself towards the fall. Even the breeze was unusually mild. She tried to cling to the sharp red shards of her anger, but it melted away like snow on a bright day. 

_Who does he think he's **fooling**? Chief Lucia wouldn't be taken in by that 'milady' stuff, but Ruth..._ She closed her eyes as the fall water sloshed onto her face. Feet planted firmly in the silt, she stood up and started scrubbing the root, working it into lather that she rubbed into her hair. Her scalp itched; it would be good to get the week's worth of dust out of her hair. 

When her skin had been so scrubbed it was nearly raw and no soap remained, she waded out of the water and stretched out on a mostly rock-free patch of ground to dry. 

She must have dozed off; a shadow falling across her body and blocking the light was instantly noticeable. Opening one eye, she squinted up, and vaguely made out the shape of knees in baggy pants. 

"... oh. Hi, Hugo." 

He squatted down beside her and grinned. "Hey. You ready to go hunting, or do you want to nap some more?" 

Aila hauled herself upright and nudged him in the ribs. "I wasn't _napping_, I was just drying up." Casting around for her clothes, she locates them by feel and tugged her shirt over her head. "Hand me my pants?" 

The Hugo of a few years ago would have put them on her head or something; now, he just handed them over with a sheepish grin and sat quietly while she tugged them on. "Thanks. What do you want to hunt?" 

"Well, if you wanted to show off that bow of yours, how about grouse? The sharp-tails are all out this season, and Hubert likes chasing them." 

"Sounds good. Let's go." 

--- 

By the time they returned to the village, the sun was directly overhead. Hugo took off to find Lucia, leaving Aila with a brace of plucked grouse and nothing to do. 

Ruth was outside her house, pounding flour. Holding the birds out as a peace-offering, Aila crept up beside her. 

"Hugo and I went hunting; would you like these?" 

Ruth smiled as she looked up, reached for the birds with one flour-covered hand, then thought the better of it. "Spirits bless you, yes! Thank you. I was wondering what else to make for dinner..." She got up and dusted her hands off on her skirt, then tucked the flour bowl under one arm. "Come on inside, I think I have enough now..." 

Aila followed, looking around for somewhere to put her kills. "Um, do you want me to debone these?" 

Ruth indicated a high, broad wood table with a draining groove that ran it's length, then emptied out over a tin bucket, neither of which Aila remembered from before. "If you wouldn't mind... I'll make the batter. You know where the knives are." 

Selecting the smallest of the boning knives, Aila got to work. She had made a point of keeping in practice in Caleria; Jacques had never managed to beat her for speed. The new block made it even quicker than usual. The wood-working wasn't familiar, and old Red, the only villager with a hand for wood, had fled to Chisha during the war and never came back. 

"This is nice, Ruth. Who made it?" 

"Oh, some folk in Chisha, I think; maybe some Safir refugees. I'm not sure." 

"You... aren't?" Aila cleaned the knife off carefully, then glanced over her shoulder. 

"Mm." With a thoughtful frown, Ruth licked batter from her fingers. "C'mere and tell me what you think of this -- and no, Borus got it for me when the last caravan came through. Do you believe, they had all this _furniture_ tied atop their wagon?" 

Biting back her instinctive reply, Aila leaned over the bowl and swiped her fingers in the batter. "Hrmm..." It was much stronger than the porridge from the morning; the taste of maize was heavy, but not overpowering. "It's good. You going to add molasses?" 

Ruth licked clean another finger-full, then pursed her lips. "Yes, that's a good idea. I think I will. Get me the jug?" 

Aila trotted obediently over to the cold pit dug in one corner of the floor and hauled up the cover. "Still the blue Safir one?" 

"Mm-hmm. I hope it hasn't gotten _too_ solid." 

She hefted the jug and brought it back, then pulled out the cork and took a sniff. "Doesn't _seem_ like it..." 

Ruth took it with a grateful smile and poured out a large circle atop the batter, the size of a Zexen double-stag coin. Stirring it in with a spoon, she didn't say anything. Aila found herself shifting from foot to foot and studying the new rug beneath her. 

"I'm really sorry about last night. I don't-- whatever I think, he was your guest. So, I'm sorry." 

"It's all right, dear. It's my fault for not telling you. S'pose I've gotten so used to Borus I'd forgotten." 

The words were out before Aila could bite her tongue. 

"Forget _what_? That he killed half the village?" 

Ruth looked up, gaze steady, then closed her eyes and shook her head. "Not that. _Never_ that. Don't think I forget the ones we've lost for a _moment_, Aila." 

"I'm sorry, I-- I didn't mean it like that." 

After a moment, Ruth finally spoke again. "I'd forgotten how hard it was to let go my anger." She waggled the spoon under Aila's chin. "Here, better now?" 

"You? Angry?" The batter was a bit sweeter, but... "Could use a bit more." 

This time, Ruth poured a thin trail of syrup around the bowl in a slow spiral. "Yes, me. I get angry, sometimes." 

"What stopped you?" 

That drew a long sigh from Ruth, before she set back to stirring. "I was just so _tired_. Anger's not a weight I carry well. It wears a person, and it doesn't give anything back. Sorrow I can bear; it gives you sympathy and compassion, but anger -- it just takes." 

"I... I hadn't of it that way." 

"You're young, dear. Of course you didn't." Ruth handed her the bowl and looked her straight in the eye. "He'll be at dinner. And you're not going to run off with Hugo." 

Aila closed her eyes, then nodded. "All right. Okay." 

"Good. Now get to stirring, my hands are tired." 

--- 

Ruth had _some_ mercy; Aila and Borus were seated at separate (but not quite opposite) ends of the table. The blond knight didn't speak much, only quietly responding when he was called upon to resolve disputes over Zexen trade policy and political procedure. Warm gold-brown eyes tracked the conversation from speaker to speaker; he'd mastered the trick of eating without looking at his plate, and seemed intent on keeping up with what was being said. 

At one point, she called out for the duck sauce, then noticed abruptly it was in his hands. He started to lean across the table, stopped himself, and handed the jar off to be passed around to her. 

Other than that, dinner was entirely uneventful, until just before desert. Standing up and grinning broadly, Hugo fished out a stoppered vial of-- _grouse eyeballs_? 

"In honor of our noble guest -- here, Sir Borus. The eyes of a good kill bring wisdom and foresight." He plonked the vessel down in front of the knight. "For you. Dig in." 

Aila boggled, and Beecham nudged her with an elbow and winked, mouthing the words "it's a tradition!". She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. 

Borus eyed the vial warily, then swallowed and picked it up, holding it arms length. "I, uh... thank you. Er, Sergeant, didn't you say eyeballs were supposed to bring -- ah, virility?" 

"Kwa kwa kwa!" Joe slapped Borus on the back with a wing. "That's _frog_ eyeballs, boy!" 

"Besides," piped up Hugo, "the Sergeant's from Duck village. Totally different tradition." 

After that, she felt _much_ better. 

Even staying back to wash dishes with him wasn't so bad. Ruth had told Borus he didn't need to help with Aila there, but he protested and got into a _very_ polite argument with her. Finally, she commanded they could _both_ do the dishes while she rested her feet. 

Elbow-deep in soapy water, Borus managed to avoid looking at her, just handed her dishes to dry without speaking. 

The urge to heckle him proved too great. "You know, that's not _really_ a Karaya tradition." _You idiot._

He held out a plate, then swallowed. "Ah, yes. Actually. I did know." 

"... you did?" 

He suddenly became quite intent on scrubbing out the last bowl. "... Percival and I used to do that kind of thing to Roland." 

"You _did_?" 

"It was _Percival's_ idea. But, yes." 

Aila snorted. "Hrmph. I don't know whether raise my opinion of you, or call you a jerk." 

Glancing up, he frowned, then got a painstakingly solemn look on his face. "It was unchivalrous of me." 

"... maybe not jerk. _Pompous_ jerk covers it." 

He nodded, expression still deathly grave. "That, too. 'Pompous git' is Percival's favorite." Holding out the bowl, he coughed. "That and 'foul tudge'." 

"Hrmph." She did a half-assed job drying the bowl, stacked it atop the rest, and stalked off to find Ruth.   
  


_w00t! This is becoming even more fun to write. And, looky looky, Aila talks about soda! See, I listen to my reviews. *cough* In case you were wondering/didn't realize, Karayan cuisine == Navajo/Dineh food, basically. Yes, I am insane. And the Calerians are kind of North African/Morrocan._

_If you're wondering what the fuck is up with Borus' scars, I won't tell you, because it's a spoiler! ... however, if you think you know, I'd be curious to hear people's opinions. My Borus characterization is largely ripped off from inspired by Mooncalf (http://www.mooncalf.org); however, if it sucks, it's all her my fault._

_I think I'll take a break after this chapter and write Albert/Caesar porn instead. Or maybe Zexen Christmas fic. I dunno. Somethin'._


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